Pine Box Patience
by thursdaywench
Summary: Pennsylvania offers history, ghosts, and graves. Do the Winchesters need to take up on the last offer? Hurt!Dean, Limp!Sam, and a whole lot of angst! Takes place after season 2, and includes spoilers as such.
1. Chapter 1

_A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful._

_Is this a test? _

_It has to be. Otherwise I can't go on._

_Draining Patience, drain Vitality._

_This paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old._

"The Patient"- Tool

* * *

They stopped at a gas station outside of Reading, PA., the Impala needing refueling. 

"So this ghost, it haunts a cemetery? Little redundant, don't cha think? Like a pirate having two peg legs!" He grinned and reached for one of their new credit cards.

Sam raised his eyebrow and shrugged, "Hey, don't ask me, I just get the info. You can be all Dr. Laura if you'd like."

Dean snorted, "Nah, sounds more up your alley. Besides, figured you'd know best, there dead boy."

"Ah, I see we've moved past the thankful stage and progressed to name calling. So how long's this joke going to last, deal making wonder?" Sam cracked a grin, masking the sudden surge of anxiety clutching at his stomach.

Never one to show it, Dean thought along the same thread, "Oh, at least a year." He winked.

Sam sighed, unable to keep up the banter, "Alright, I'm sorry, but I can't joke about this. We shouldn't be hunting, we should find a way-"

"What? To prevent my one year limited warranty?" Dean scoffed, "We've spent the last month looking, my eyes are permanently crossed! Besides, Bobby's still at it, and we have a job to do!"

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Dean cut him off, "No Sam, that's it, it's final! I'm not just gonna sit on my ass here. We hunt. End of story!" With that, he got out of the car and slammed the door.

Sam ground his teeth, letting only a huff of his frustration out. Sometimes, Dean's crap was so tiring and frustrating, Sam wanted to put his fist through something. Usually he saved it for the baddie that they were up against, but now there was nothing to punch, no one that warranted a good throttling. Well, okay, the Impala could take a hit, but Sam did value his new lease on life. Besides, he knew Dean was right. They exhausted the books, and Google searches only went so far.

Instead, Sam got out himself and stalked towards the mini-mart. _Maybe food will help ease some tension._ As he browsed the racks of processed, fortified, and otherwise non-organic snacks, Sam looked back outside. Predictably, Dean was leaning on the trunk, face turned into the sun. But the look on his brother's face said quite clearly that he wasn't thinking of the sun. No, Dean was miles away.

Sam felt the beginnings of guilt. He didn't like adding to his brother's load, he knew Dean worked his hardest, perhaps too hard. He went to the literal end of the world for Sam. A flash of renewed anger coursed through Sam. _But he shouldn't have traded himself! _Therein lied his greatest beef with Dean. That he never allowed himself to be safe instead of Sam. Sam wasn't five, he could take responsibility for himself. Dean never allowed such a thing.

Sam made his way to the drink cooler, grabbing two Mountain Dews. Figuring Dean needed a peace offering, he also grabbed his older brother's favorite brand of jerky. The stuff was disgusting, but hey, if it perked up Dean's mood, whatever. Adding a bag of Peanut M&Ms to the pile, Sam walked up to the counter. A girl of 18 greeted him energetically. He couldn't help but return her grin. Her casual conversation lifted his mood slightly, and as she handed him a bag, he noticed that a slip of paper that wasn't his receipt made it's way between the M&Ms and soda. Sam smiled and thanked her, pushing out the door, turning to share a parting grin.

But as he walked towards the impala, he noticed Dean was not in his seat. _Figures, _Sam rolled his eyes, _Dude's got a bladder of a blue haired lady._ He slid into the passenger seat, cracking open a Dew. But as Sam brought the drink to his lips, something caught his eye. Turning, he gasped and nearly dropped the bottle.

A knife was embedded into the leather seat, right in the center of the indentation cause by Dean's many hours of driving.

"Holy-!" Sam instinctually reached for the knife, yanking the 8-inch blade from the seat. As he did, a piece of paper fluttered to the bottom of the car. As adrenaline rushed through Sam's body, he lunged for the slip. He read it through:

_ Sammy---_

_The evil one has sealed my fate_

_I am buried alive!_

_Inside a tomb of hate and fear_

_I tremble inside - I struggle_

_In the cold, cruel earth_

_I gasp for air,_

_I seek the blackness_

_I am one with the oblivion_

_Of empty places,_

_Places I could not escape_

_When still alive_

_They throw shovels of soil_

_Atop my wooden coffin -_

_Yet still I faintly breathe_

_And squirm as I try_

_To scream, wretched_

_In a nightmare -_

_Trapped in this dream_

_I sought the solace of this grave,_

_But now I know that I was wrong_

_That not even death can efface,_

_The horror, the gloom, and the dread_

_Of this lonely place_

_Nor can the grim reaper efface,_

_The blight of those who were born_

_To be the outcasts of paradise_

_---Dean_

Sam read the paper over 3 times in quick succession, horror building. His pulse pounded in his head. The page was torn from a book, salutations being the only handwritten part. The world swirled before Sam's eyes, threatening to engulf him.

"Oh God! Dean!" Sam ran a hand through his hair, shaking from fear, guilt, and a hint of anger. Why did his brother do this now? "waitaminute..." Through the haze, Sam realized that the handwritten 'Sam' and 'Dean' were not in his brother's blocky script. Dean used all uppercase, while this writing made exaggerated capitals and small, quick lowercase.

The world fell completely from Sam. _Someone took Dean, someone wants to screw with my head._ Sam pressed his palms into his temples, leaning forward to rest his head on the dashboard, it's cool metal calming Sam's discordant mind. He couldn't stop on one thought. Who did this? Was he dead? Why? what should he, Sam, do? Was he dead? Wait for more information, more threats? Was he dead? Research? Research what? _Was Dean dead? Oh God!_ Sam pressed harder, attempting to squash the terrible thought from his mind. _No, he can't be! Focus Sam, focus! _

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts. _Alright, let's try the cell._ It was a long shot, but Sam figured no harm in trying. Hitting the speed dial, the call went through, ringing sounding tinny and unreal against Sam's ear. The sound of hard rock came from the floorboards, startling Sam. He stooped the call and bent to find his brother's phone beneath the seat. Sorrow pelted his stomach as he stared at the mobile. He tilted his head as the LED showed that Dean had two missed calls and one new voicemail. He dialed the voicemail; Dean's password never changed, not since he was five. It was BOC.

A chill ran up Sam's spine and to his limbs as he listened to the message.

"Hey Sam, take a listen..." A gravelly, hoarse voice sounded over the line.

Sam jumped as something slammed into the phone, followed by a series of of muffled thuds, crashes, and curses.

"GET OFF ME, YOU SONOFABITCH!!" came his brother's voice, alive with anger, "I'm gonna Kill-"

Dean's voice was cut off by a sickening crunch that made Sam nauseous, followed by a groan. Sam nearly dropped the phone, but held on as the voice came back.

"Well Sammy, seems we have some business. I'll be in touch." _Click._ The message ended.

Sam didn't even register the annoying woman on the voicemail. He pressed end with shaking hands and slumped in the seat. Business? That voice...Sm shivered and tried to place it. Familiar, but not on the tip of his tongue. Sam was in shock. Just 10 minutes ago, he was arguing about Dean's life. Now, his brother was in immediate jeopardy.

"FUCK!" Sam slammed his palms on the dash, a movement usually punishable by law. He rarely swore, usually leaving that to Dean, but the anger, resentment, and frustration boiling over in Sam's veins needed an outlet.

He yanked himself behind the wheel, flipping the ignition. He needed to find his brother, that's all that mattered. Punching the accelerator, Sam flew back to their motel room, to his only haven left, the laptop.

* * *

---The poem used is by Ronald Dondiego---i own nothing, cept the plotline...blah, blah, blah...:D

i'm writing this and Updating immediately, so there may be a wait 'tween the chapters...sorry!!!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: thanks so much for all the reviews!!!! keep 'em coming, you know they make an author's day!

oh, and disclaimer: i don't own anything Supernatural, blah, blah blah...ENJOY!!

* * *

_But I'm still here, giving blood, keeping faith. And i'm still right here._

_I'm gonna wait it out._

_If there were no rewards to reap,_

_loving embrace to see me through,_

_this tedious path I've chosen here, _

_I certainly would've walked away by now._

_"The Patient"-_ Tool

It was 22 hours since Sam heard the most disturbing message of his life. 20 hours since the Red Bull pulled it's overtime shift. Sam stayed up the entire night, searching everything he could think of, his frustration once again mounting. So far, he checked the caller ID on Dean's phone, examined and researched the knife to the most minute detail, found the poem online, and called the gas station. The call came from one of those pay-as-you-go cell phones, the number impossible to trace. It was bought in Reading, in cash. The knife was clean of prints, serrated, and it's serial number of no avail. Sam ran it through licensing websites, but as most of their own weapons, it wasn't registered. _So...hunter. _Sam thought grimly, _well, I guess with Wyoming, the Winchesters are the latest headlines. _Sam hunched over the table, surrounded by empty cans. The only time he left the room was to pick up the energy drinks from the corner store. That was 20 hours ago. Ignoring the rumble of his stomach and he tremor in his hands from the caffeine, Sam looked over the poem for the fiftieth time. He found it online, but of course, no leads. The guy who wrote it was just a fatalist who wanted to find the deeper meanings in his writings. Sam gave a sardonic chuckle when Dondiego pointed out that his goal in life was to be a pain in the ass, reminding Sam forcibly of Dean. With that sobering thought, the feeling of utter hopelessness returned. An entire day of searching and he was no closer to finding his brother than he was in the beginning. Sam pushed away from the table, feeling the computer had let him down. He put his elbows on his legs and bent his head.

"Ah, hey God. Please, find Dean, bring him home to me. We're finally done with Dad's mission, let him come back to me, help me find him. I know..." Sam swallowed, unsure how to continue, "I know he should be dead, that _I _ should be dead. BUt I can't help but feel that we're needed." He chuckled, "Besides, you know Dean, he'll be standing at the pearly gates, demanding his full year. Just help, please God."

_Knock_. Sam jumped as a knock came from the door. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, wincing as he realized how grimy he must be.

He opened the door to find the girl from the mini-mart. She smiled brightly, a videocassette clutched to her chest.

"Hey!" She was as bubbly as ever, "Joe told me to bring the security feed over here ASAP. But he didn't say it was you! How ya doing? Enjoy your M&Ms?"

Sam stood in shock. Confined to the dingy motel room, her vivacity was over powering, "Uh, yeah, that's me, thanks." He reached for the tape.

She still clutched at it, "Are you a cop? An FBI agent? Is the store under investigation?" She didn't looked scared, only excited.

"Look, uhh-"

"Betsy." She supplied quickly.

"Betsy, I'm sorry, I can't tell you," Sam rubbed his face, "It's a long story."

"Well-" She looked expectantly at him

"Sam"

"Well Sam, considering I took the day off to get this to you, and that I have plenty of-"

"Look!" The ever-present frustration welled unintentionally, "it's none of your business!" Sam made to snatch the tape again

"Hey," she said softly, demeanor changing to quiet concern almost immediately, "don't take it out on me. You look terrible. Whatever it is, I'm sorry." She held out the tape, "hope it works out. If you need anything else, let me know, okay?"

He took the tape and she turned to go. Guilt washing away any traces of aggravation, Sam stopped hi with a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry Betsy, I didn't mean to..."

She smiled, "I know you didn't. Don't worry about it."

"Someone took my brother." Sam sighed, "I need to find him before..." He choked on the words.

Betsy turned back, horrified. "What? Why didn't you say anything yesterday? Today? Called the cops?"

Sam shook his head, broad shoulders now slumped, "We're not exactly law abiding citizens, or so they think."

The flash of fear that crossed her face was quickly replaced with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Well, you don't seem ax murderish, are you bank robbers? Con men? Have a bad case of serial public lewdness?" She added hopefully, regaining her zesty air.

Sam snorted, "No, my brother was framed for murder."

"Oh." Betsy registered shock, "Well. that's...well, let's find him!" She grinned up at Sam.

"What? You can't help-"

"Oh yes, I can! It is my day off, I can do whatever I please." She bumped her way past him into the room, "Besides, I know who you are!"

"What?" Sam stopped, thinking she somehow knew his abilities.

"You're on the run from the law!" She looked around, "geez, you men are such pigs!" She began picking up Sam's litter, pausing on a piece of paper.

"Hey! Don't-!" Sam tried stopping her from reading it.

She stepped back from his reach, color draining from her face. She slumped onto one of their beds, "Oh god, you found this?" She looked up, tears welling.

Sam flopped into his chair opposite her, despair clawing its way up through his body. He sighed, "Yup. Found it on Dean's seat, held in place with that." He pointed out the knife, eying it wearily.

She looked sick, "Oh Sam, I'm so sorry!"

"Yeah, so, I gotta find him..." Sam trailed off, drowning in thoughts of what could happen.

Betsy shook herself. "Well, no use wallowing here! We've got the tape, let's check it out."

"Sure," Sam realized he didn't close the door. He stood and made to do so, but a newspaper caught his eye on the stoop. He automatically bent to pick it up and threw it on the table. Betsy put the tape in the VCR.

"Let's see...you came in at about 4pm..." She fast-forwarded until the Impala pulled up.

"That's us." Sam interjected.

The watched as first Dean, then Sam slammed the doors and stormed in opposite directions.

"Can't hardly tell you're brothers." Betsy rolled her eyes.

Distracted, Sam responded automatically, "So we've been told." He leaned forward, staring hard at Dean. The mix of emotions hit like a steam roller. But he couldn't look away, he would miss something. "Dammit," he added softly, as Dean walked off screen, anger twisting his features. "Dean, what the hell?"

Sam gasped and Betsy uttered a soft scream as Dean attempted to run back to the car, but was grabbed by someone. _Or something, _thought Sam. They leaned forward, horror masking both faces as two pairs of legs entered the screen. Dean's boots came up and pushed the second body off and into the camera. A man of about 6 feet crouched as the fight entered the screen; Dean was likewise crouched. The man rushed and they grappled, Dean yelling. Sam recalled the phone call, dreading the next moment. The attacker yanked a nozzle from the pump and bashed it into Dean's head, dropping the elder Winchester.

Sam flinched, and unable to move, they watched as the man nodded to someone off screen and picked up Dean. He threw the lifeless body over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, walking towards the person off camera.

"Son of a Bitch!" Sam held his head in his hands. Misery, horror, and a hopeless aggravation engulfed him for what seemed like the thousandth time.

A gentle hand was on Sam's back, Betsy having to reach nearly her entire arm to him. "Hey, we'll find him. We got a look at the guy, right? We just need to find him, find out what this sicko wants, get Dean back, okay?" She hugged him.

Not expecting it, Sam returned the hug, "Yeah, you're right, let's-" He looked around, lost for the first time. Times like this, Dean would know what to do.

"God, you look dead on your feet." Betsy stopped, "Uh, sorry, bad wording...anyway, you need food. Why don't you take a break, sleep or something? While I get us some food, kay?"

"What, No! We can't waste time!" Sam stood.

She gently pushed him back down, "You can't save Dean if you don't eat or sleep."

"But they may kill-" he stopped, the idea too appalling.

"Hey, no!" She grabbed his face, forcing Sam to look her in the eye. Her clear blue eyes locked onto his desperate weary ones. "Not to be blunt, but if they wanted him dead, that guy would've just killed Dean in the parking lot."

Sam sighed, tiredness seeping through his defenses. "You're right. Okay, we can break, but only for a short one!"

She smiled and kissed his forehead, more of a motherly gesture than anything, "How 'bout a pizza?"

Sam nodded and she moved to the door.

"And no work! Rest!" Betsy demanded as she left.

Sam sighed again, and reached for the newspaper. _It's not technically work, _he reasoned. He skimmed the pages, not really seeing what was printed. He couldn't stop thinking and theorizing about the man and his brother. But as he came to the obituaries, Sam nearly retched.

_**Dean Winchester, **__27, died_

_today of asphyxiation at _

_approximately 8:50 pm. He_

_Leaves behind brother Sam, _

_hunters by trade. He was a _

_good hunter, merely caught in_

_the crossfire, emotions clouding _

_him. He is buried in the Gethsmane_

_Cemetery, may he rest in peace._


	3. Chapter 3

AN: alright, so, i have no clue the etiquette on reviews...if i didn't respond to your's i'm sorry, that wasn't intentional. I love the reviews, keep 'em comin'!! thanks so much for reading, and i only harbor hopes to own SN _  
_

* * *

_If there were no desire to heal, _

_the damaged and broken met along_

_this tedious path I've chose here_

_I certainly would've walked away by now._

_"The Patient"- _Tool

* * *

8:50? Today? Sam checked his watch, heart caught in his throat. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. _Oh God, in 5 hours, Dean's gonna-_ Sam mentally shook himself, _No! 5 hours, plenty of time._

Sam threw himself into the chair, adrenaline rushing through his body, excitement, fear, and hope all forming a roiling mass in his stomach.

The laptop, before being the height of useless, now offered abounding information. Pulling up Google, Sam's dexterous fingers flew across the keyboard. He entered in "Reading, PA, Gethsmane Cemetery". Filled with nervous energy, Sam tapped out a rhythm as directions, facts, burial lists and historic site's popped up. Finally, something to be researched and found. Pulling up multiple tabs, Sam jotted down directions while the plot numbers and history loaded. 3:50..._5 hours._

Sam wrenched his duffel from beneath his bed, filling it not with clothes, but weapons. He checked his main pistol first, deft fingers working the gun's machinery in seconds. Next came the shotgun, loaded with fresh iron in less than a minute. The wrist sheaves came on, followed by a 10-inch blade into the bag. The rest of their weapons were safe in the mess Dean liked to call a trunk. Sam threw the bag over his shoulder, ignoring it as the weight smashed into his kidney. Grabbing the keys, Sam hurriedly closed and locked the door. 4pm..._2 hours and 50 minutes..._

He jammed the keys into the trunk lid, throwing it open only long enough to check for a shovel and flashlight. Sam threw the car in reverse, and peeled out of the motel, his only thoughts resting on his brother's life. _I'm comin' Dean. Be the stubborn ass you are and hold on for me._

4:50pm. Sam was stuck in traffic. "ARGH!" He didn't have the time! Dean didn't have the time! Leaning on the Impala's horn, Sam now understood the full meaning of road rage. 50 feet was gained.

"GAH!!!" Sam gave a short bark of his frustration, pounding on the steering wheel with his palms. Realizing with an ounce of shame, Sam turned his head to the open window. A woman stared, horrified, back at him. Sam rested his head on the wheel, shame and guilt riding his frustration. The woman's reaction gave him a bit of a wake up call. He couldn't help Dean if he was at his whit's end, behaving like a Neanderthal. No, Sam took several deep breaths, casting his eyes toward the sky. Uttering a quick prayer for patience, time, and help, Sam eased on in traffic with a new resolve.

5:30pm. The patience Sam usually prided himself on having was long gone, once again. The Impala screeched into the graveyard, only slowing to avoid it's massive, wrought iron gates.

6:15pm. Sam's hands could barely hold the flashlight still as he raced from headstone to headstone. Unsure what to expect, and expecting everything, Sam had his pistol in the back of his jeans, duffle slung over his shoulder backpack style, and a shovel in his left hand. His fingers began to loose feeling as he kept a death grip on the only instrument that could save Dean's life.

6:50pm. Sam was beyond thought, beyond fear, beyond frustration. He became the single thought, one thought that made up his entire being: find Dean, save Dean. Just as the headstones began to blur together, the flashlight's intrusive beam caught one single word that nearly toppled Sam.

WINCHESTER

"DEAN!" Sam threw himself on the fresh tilled earth, forgetting what he should do in a frenzy. "DEAN!" He pounded the dirt, expecting a smartass remark to come back. When none came, Sam's reason caught up with his action. _Dig Sam! _it shouted to him, _DIG! _Heaving himself up, the shovel that had been in his grip so tightly now proved it's worth.

8pm. Sam was almost there. He could feel it in the ache of his back, his arms, his legs. But still he didn't slow. Sam never stopped digging, never would stop, not until he found his brother, breathing and alive. Sweat cascaded down Sam's body as the tension and physical labor wore him down.

"Dean!" He shouted hoarsely, "C'mon man, tell me something, anything!" He coughed into his dusty shoulder as a cloud of dirt rose. "Dean! C'mon! I put a dent in the Impala!" He paused, just for a moment, in case Dean was too weak too shout.

Nothing. Sam redoubled his efforts, breathing hard through his nose.

_THUNK._ Sam's shovel hit wood. Abandoning all pretense, Sam flopped onto the domed mound, brushing the last inch of dirt away. "**DEAN!**" WIthout pausing to consider why the coffin wasn't locked, Sam heaved the heavy oak top up and out.

Sam gasped, "Dean?"

The coffin was empty, brand new except for the granules of dirt that fell in after Sam's haste to get to his brother back. "What the...hell? Dean..." He was supposed to be here. Sam checked his watch. 8:30pm.

Sam just sat there on the lid of the coffin, dumbfounded and weak with exertion. He just didn't understand. He followed the clues, did the research. the grave marker said "WINCHESTER" for Pete's sake! Where was Dean!

Sam looked up, thinking maybe, just maybe Dean cooked this up as a joke and would be grinning broadly at his gullible little brother.

Sam gave a start. Instead, leering down at him was a menace that Sam thought was put away for good. "Gordon." It came out as a growl as Sam stood, aware of his disadvantaged position.

"Hey Sammy! We got business."

While surreptitiously reaching for his gun, Sam growled, "Where's Dean?"

Gordon bent to pick up something on the ground, never taking his eye off Sam. "Don't worry, he'll be okay. This wasn't _his _grave you dug, Sammy."

Sam didn't even feel the ground as the shovel connected with the entire side of his face, spilling the young Winchester into oblivion.

* * *

AN: that, my friends has been the hardest chapter to write so far...hard to build up Sam's agitation. but, hey, that's what it is, hopefully i pulled it off

_next on **Pine Box Patience:** the chapter all you hurt!Winchester fans have been waiting for!!! and lots of twisted writing from me, so yay, off to agnst land!!! haha _


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: hokay, here's the most twisty of the twist...hope y'all like it and don't think i'm a pscyhopath ;) as always, i love reviews, so give 'em!! thanks, da wench._**

* * *

_But I'm still here, giving blood, keeping faith. And i'm still right here._

_But I'm still here, giving blood, keeping faith. And i'm still right here._

_I'm gonna wait it out._

_I must keep reminding myself of this_

_Gonna wait it out._

_Gonna wait it out._

_"The Patient"- _Tool

* * *

The job was done, his task complete. Gordon Walker was the ultimate compartmentalizer; he did the job and walked away, whistling some stupid pop song that some kid got stuck in his head.

As he was working, muffled thumps and yells fell on unconcerned ears. the job had to be done, there was no choice. Perhaps that's why he liked his job so much, there were no "what ifs" or greys. It was like a clean slice of a blade. Black. White. Clean cut.

Gordon knew that he did what he did for the good of his people, his race. This thought kept him straight, was his mantra. Protect humans. Kill demons.

Reaching his car, Gordon threw the borrowed tool in the trunk. He came around to the side of his car and opened the back-seat to reveal a very feral Dean Winchester. Bound hand and foot and gagged, murderous was too gentle a way to describe the look on Dean's face.

"Hey there Dean." He reached in and dragged his hostage out by the lapels of his leather coat.

Without second hesitation, Dean reared and head-butted Gordon, who in turn grunted and dropped the younger man. Tumbling to the gravel strewn drive, Dean tried to roll under the car out of the psychopath's reach. But a boot lashed out and slammed into his stomach, his breath rushing past the bandana across his mouth. The older Winchester curled into himself, presenting the smallest target.

Gordon kicked again, a pained grunt the only response, "How many times do I have to tell you Dean? It's my job. Sam was an abomination, one of _them._"

Dean's eyes, glaring before, now turned to deep pits of forest as the realization of the past tense socked him harder in the gut than anything Gordon could dish out with his feet. It seemed as if Dean had turned to stone, quite certain of the worst.

"Well, okay, still _is_ an abomination, at least for another hour and a half." He chuckled at the hope blossoming in Dean. "Oh, there's nothing to be done. I do my job, do it right. Sammy's six feet under, to be sure. I just didn't kill him 'afore I put him there."

The growl coming from Dean could only be described as predatory. A wolf that got entangled and would seek any and all revenge as soon as it was free.

Gordon sighed, "See, this is where my job gets hard. I happen to love my life, so I can't just let you go now. But I sure as hell ain't gonna keep you around." He knelt, reaching around the trapped hunter's head and loosened the gag, "So I'll repay your kindness and call someone in two day-"

"You Sick Fucking Bastard!" Hoarse from lack of water, Dean only sounded more like a caged animal. "I will hunt your ass down and feed-"

Gordon's fist connected with Dean's face, snapping his head back. "Dean. I think I just gave you a favor. Be nice."

"Yeah?" came the single retort, "Why don't you do me another favor and go stick your head in a gas can. While you're at it, light a match too."

Gordon stood once more, considering the pros and cons of something. Seeming to decide, he delivered one final kick to Dean's abdomen.

"Ugh! You Son of a Bitch!" Dean raged, writhing on the ground, "Pain doesn't begin to describe what I'm gonna do!"

But Gordon said nothing, did nothing. He took out his car keys, walked to his seat, and started the engine. Gravel sprayed Dean as the sociopath peeled out, stinging as sharp points bit into his skin.

"ARGH!" Dean yelled into the open air, venting his anger, his fear, and the inescapable feeling of helplessness. As he rolled over, reaching vainly for his bonds, the oldest Winchester found new curses and swears, remembering a few forgotten ones too. He craned his neck to find a sharp enough rock. _An hour and a half, only an hour and a half..._

* * *

Sam awoke with a gasp, realizing tow things straight away: he couldn't see anything, and he was lying down. For one insane moment, he thought he was back in the motel. But as he raised his hand to rub his sore face, it collided with a horizontal plane not six inches above him. A hard ball of ice started in his stomach and spread as explored the space with his hands and arms.

"no..." the soft horrified utterance only bounced back on Sam as the coffin became his padded prison.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, hands balling into tight fists. _Dream, Dream, it's gotta be a dream. _But even before he pinched himself, Sam knew this was one nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He shuddered, refusing to submit to the terror. A soft noise caught his attention, Sam's worst thought going to mice and rats. He listened again, ears straining for anything, any clue. A soft _FLUMP_ filtered down from above. Dirt.

"HEY!" Sam pounded on the lid, "Hey! Help! I'M NOT DEAD! GORDON!" His gruff shouting turned to pleas, "Gordon! Don't Do This!" Please Don't! GORDON!"

Sam stopped his pounding for a minute, feeling nauseous as the noises of dirt piling on dirt. He renewed his pounding efforts, slamming the meat of his fists into the thick wood over and over again, "GORDOOON!!" The last roar became nearly a scream as the terror, the frustration, and the sorrow reached its climax.

"Oh god..." This was it. the moment that Sam had thought would be slightly more delayed. He was going to die. Held at the mercy of a a sociopath who hated Sam with every fiber of his being, Sam knew his number was once again up. But this time, Dean wasn't there. His sharp intake of breath reverberated off the walls of his wooden cocoon as Sam realized Dean could be dead too. Forgetting the bruises already littering his hands, Sam pressed his hands flat on the shallow roof, using the bottom of the casket as a brace. Sam pushed, grunting, until stars danced before his eyes. He released the tension, pants becoming sobs. Shaking and shuddering, Sam knotted his fingers in his hair, yanking to the point of ripping several strands out. Reaching for the thin layer of fabric linking his death next, he shredded the silk underneath hooked claws. His breath came in hisses and gasps, giving into his primal survival instincts completely. Sam's powerful legs kept a vicious beat as they pummeled the bottom and end of the oak box. He trashed, kicked, punched, yelled, screamed, pulled, pushed, and flexed. There was no way out, no one to save him, no way to save himself.

Eventually, when his body could take no more, Sam lay back and simply stared up to the darkness. His body wanted to cry, he could feel the burn behind his eyes, but he refused to succumb.

Beginning to calm, Sam gauged the time he'd been down here. Given that he could hear Gordon in the beginning, he couldn't have been out for more than 20 minutes. Plus the time he'd been alone, that equated to about an hour. Provided the amount of oxygen he used and the amount his death trap held, he had maybe another hour to live. Running through the mental math helped Sam achieve a hard focus necessary for his predicament.

_Okay, _Sam took a deep breath, _Let's figure a few things out. 1. Gordon wanted him dead...Well, DUH! But why not kill him first? Because he fears Dean. So if he was still worried for his own life, that meant that DEAN WAS ALIVE! _Hope began to swell in Sam's chest, _Plus, _he continued, now on a roll, _there was Betsy..._he frowned, trying to recall if he shut down the computer. _no...but I locked the door, damm! Well, she is a feisty kid, maybe she'll get a key..._But Sam knew he couldn't count on her, a stranger. No, his faith always rested on his brother. No matter how bad things got, how helpless the situation, he could count on Dean. But why did this feel like the one time Dean couldn't save him?

WIth a half an hour's worth of oxygen left for him, half an hour left for Sam to be on this earth, he broke into quiet tears. Heaving, heavy silent tears that flowed continuously. Sam thought back on the world, as his mood often did, and was calmed to say that he effected the world positively. He rid his home of evil, helped his fellow man. As his distraught thoughts turned to everyone he loved, Sam's short supply of oxygen began to effect him. Sam Winchester began to hallucinate on the threshold of death.

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AN: oooh...ducks don't hurt me for hurting the boys!!! anyway, i'll be in SC (i'm from NY) for the week, so i don't know how much access to a compy i'll have...but have no fear, i will write!! have a good holiday!!! 


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: hey y'all, thanks for the reviews! hope the last chapter didn't cause any perminent mental damage! anywho, enjoy! **

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_A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful._

_Is this a test? _

_It has to be. Otherwise I can't go on._

_Draining Patience, drain Vitality._

_This paranoid, paralyzed vampire act's a little old._

Dean's arms were beginning to numb. He found a rock, but so far, the only thing it could cut was his hands.

"Son of a..." He muttered, "What I wouldn't give for 'cuffs and a paperclip."

It had only been a few minutes since Gordon left, but for Dean, it felt like hours. Anxiety, rage and desperation all congealed in his stomach with no outlet. He knew Sammy was strong, but enough to withstand that? And if he, Dean, didn't get free in time, what then? The older Winchester mentally punched himself. _You didn't play let's make a demon deal just for Sam to die again!_

He renewed his efforts with the rock, barely noticing as it jabbed his palm. But the hunter halted his hacking as footsteps drew near. _ Gordon? The police? Sam? _Hope overtook the dread in his chest as he listened for any hint of who it may be.

"Hey, uhh, you okay?" A tentative female voice sounded behind him.

Dean rolled over, "Hey, uhhh, NO! I seem to have a minor issue here." He cringed as his anger took itself out on the poor girl, but made way for confusion as relief and fear etched itself on her face. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Betsy. You must be Dean. Where's Sam?"

"Having worse issues than me. C'mon, we gotta shag ass to save his ass."

Her slim fingers made it easy for her to untie Dean's wrists. "Geez, what'd you do to your hands?"

"I couldn't face the world any more and decided to end it all." The sarcasm dripped heavily.

"Yeah, well, next time, try somewhere a little more fatalistic. What happened? We thought you were getting up close and personal with the worms. Sam and I watched the security feed. Can you say ouch? Gas nozzle's a bit of a low blow, considering the smell, don't cha think?" Dean raised an eyebrow, shocked and amused at her rambling. "But ya know, Sam was all sorts'a bonkers. What did I tell him? Be patient, look logically, but nooo! Goes off and gets himself into a mess. Alright, let's go." She reached a hand down.

"Alright, we got an hour to find shovels and dig Sammy out." Dean looked around for a tool shed.

Betsy halted, pale in the moonlight, "Dig?" She swallowed, "Oh god.."

C'mon! We gotta move!" Dean started off in the direction he hoped a shed would be.

"What? Oh." Betsy ground back into gear. "I was a shed that way." Her thumb hiked in the opposite direction. "You coming or what?" She grinned and sprinted off.

Dean stood, getting tired from her boundless energy. Shaking his head, the eldest Winchester sprinted off to get his brother back.

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He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the moment. Jessica slept next to him, snoring softly and brutalizing her pillow in her arms. Sam grinned, content to lie there as his girlfriend rested. _It doesn't get any better_, he mused. Now the demon was dead, there was life to be had. It was safe again for Jess, safe for him.

His cell phone gave a shrill ring. Looking over, Sam groaned and reached for it, annoyed that whoever dared to call was ruining his peace.

"Sam? You there?" Dean's voice came over crackling, "Sammy! Can you hear me?"

"Yeah Dean, stop yelling." Sam muttered, the sense of peace refusing to abate.

"Sam!" Dean didn't quiet, nor did he give any indication that he heard his brother. "C'mon Sammy, don't leave me!"

Bemused, Sam murmured, "I ain't leavin' ya Dean. But I need...sleep..man..Call me...later..." The lids of his eyes felt heavy and the world began to fall away.

"SAMMY! Don't You Dare Die on Me!" His brother raged, but not from the phone. Somewhere...above.

Die? What? Sam's eyes flashed open and he tried to sit up in his apartment. Something held him down. He gasped, but instead of oxygen flowing to his lungs, Sam felt lightheaded. He tried again to gulp for air, no success. Panicked, he looked over at Jess. She was gone.

"NO!" The darkness threatened to overcome as Sam was mercilessly thrown back to reality. He hadn't escaped his box; the prison still surrounded him. But this time, there was no air to be had.

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YAYS for the return of snark!!!! sorry this one took awhile...on vacay and in a twisted way, i kinda wanted to keep the last UD where it was at...oh, the sick and twisted ways...anyway, y'all know the drill. loves, and thanks for readin' and reviewin' 


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: hey y'all...the moment has arrived! ha, not that y'all were hangin' by a thread to read it, but meh, it's here! i feel the urge to explain Jess's appearance...but i won't. HA! cause it'll be explained in next chapter!**

**thanks always for the kind reviews, i try to reply back to all or most...if you really want a reply, write a bunch!! hehehe..anyway, thanks again, and have fun! i unhappily do not own Supernatural...or da boys...**

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Dean's muscles were so taut that he began to feel cramps. He couldn't stop digging though, not while his little brother was in danger, possibly dead. _Again!_ Dean's thoughts were savage in their anger, their fear. _God Sammy, next you die, I'm so not saving your ass._

Betsy had stopped helping after nearly getting hit by Dean's shovel two times. Cliches abounded as his blood, sweat and even one or two tears all mixed and splattered the dirt he heaved off his brother.

"Sam! You there?" He hollered between shovelfuls.

No Answer. Dean renewed his ferocity, ignoring his screaming hands and body.

"Sam!" Two feet more of dirt, "C'mon Sammy! Don't leave me!" It was more of a growl as the dirt flew over the lip of the grave. Dean could feel blisters forming on his already cut hands. One more foot of fill, and still no answer, "SAMMY," he nearly screamed, "DON'T YOU DARE DIE ON ME!"

"Noo!" Came the agonized wail from below.

"Shit!" The dirt was gone, but to Dean's horror, a padlock barred him from Sam. That scream...anguish threatened to overtake him. It sounded...hopeless.

"SAMMY!" With two quick jabs of the shovel, the lock broke in a shower of sparks. Dean pounded on the top of the oak box once, "Sam! I'm here!" He wrenched open his brother's small prison.

Sam lie completely still. Head thrown back in a silent shout, arms twisted at odd angles.

"No." Automatically, Dean reached for Sam's neck. A pulse fluttered three uneven beats, then ceased completely. Dean recoiled from the touch, eyes wild, mind uncomprehending. Mentally punching himself again, Dean ground into action and shoved at Sam's chest.

"Breathe, goddammitt, breathe!" He grunted in between compressions, "We both know mouth-to-mouth is a bit unsavory. C'mon!" A final shove did nothing to raise Sam's chest with air, "FIne, but I warned ya!"

Dean gave air to his brother, feeding him life. He compressed three times. Nothing. Again, the elder sibling pinched Sam's nose and breathed for him. This time Dean put his full weight on Sam's chest, not caring that ribs might crack. _As long as he breathes._

Just as Dean bent to breathe once more, Sam gasped and his eyes shot open, pupils dilated and frantic.

"Sam, thank God!" Relief swept through him but was replaced by trepidation when Sam didn't move or say a word. He simply starred upwards with wild eyes and chest heaving with new air.

Dean grabbed and shook Sam, an attempt to beat the sense back into him the same way he did with air. "Sam. Talk to me. You here?"

"Dean! Oh God!" Sam's arms shot up and his long fingers wrapped around Dean's biceps with an iron death grip. But instead of relief and warmth, Sam's eyes continued to jitter uncontrollably with unparalleled terror and panic. He didn't seem to comprehend the environment, that he was free.

"Hey, hey, easy. You're okay now Sammy." Dean tried to remove the grip, his arms already in pain from digging and Gordon's captivity. But when felt something sticky and saw his own hands, Dean looked down and felt the blood rush to his head. Sam's fingernails were bloody, some missing all together. "What the...?" Completely sickened, he took in the interior of the box that nearly killed his brother.

Strips of tattered white silk hung from the lid, torn into shreds. The sides were completely devoid of any their soft covering. Instead, the silk littered both Sam and the bottom of the casket, tinged red and pink, and pricked with splinters. The wood itself bore scratches akin to those of a wild animal.

"Oh God." Dean felt bile surge its way up his throat, "Oh Sam, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We'll get that sonovabitch, I'll get him for you." He looked down at Sam, lying still, beyond conscious thought. Dean felt rage and sorrow twist like two serpents in a dark battle. He quelled the beasts and spoke softly, "C'mon Sammy, let's get you home." He bent to prop up his brother's wide shoulders.

"NO!" Sam stayed firmly flat. "No Dean, I can't get up. There's no way, I tried every way. I'm dead, I tried everything, took every possibility. I can't get out. I tried my best. I couldn't do it, I tried so hard. I'm sorry, I can't get out. I tried my best. I did. There's no escape. So hard, I tried I tried I tried. There's no leaving this darkness. I know I did the research, but there's no route out. Can't be done, can't do it. Tried so hard. Tried with all the might..." He was babbling, lost in whatever heinous delusion the small space and lack of oxygen produced.

"Sam! Snap outta this!" Dean didn't want to hit him. The dude suffered enough. But how else could he break this macabre?

Then an idea stuck. Dean moved so he was standing over Sam and the coffin. He bent double, wrapped his arms around his little brother, and pulled with all the strength left in his body. He cried out, a low growl of exertion, frustration, determination and desperation. His body shook and his muscles screamed as his put every fiber of his being into getting Sam back, healthy and nearly whole.

It felt like the world itself worked against him. This wasn't simply Sam's full weight. No, a force held the young psychic down. Then again, it wasn't just anyone dragging at Sam's body in the opposite direction. When it seemed to be utterly hopeless, when Dean felt the cords in his back and neck begin to seize and pop, Sam jerked up, his body free.

Sam gasped, a sharper sound than the previous time, and Dean pushed back to look him in the eye. "Hey, you with me now?"

"Dean?" Sam's eyes focused, jumping from confused to relief before settling onto kind of blank hopeless horror that scared Dean more than any lack of oxygen. The voice that Sam spoke with was gravelly, and carried the sign of his suffering, "How...?"

"We'll talk later, little bro. C'mon, let's get back to the hotel. Get you cleaned up."

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**Next: is Sammy really ok? **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: hey everyone!! sorry for the delay, work's been killing me...literally...there was this knife...haha! just kidding!**

**Thanks, as usual for all the reading and reviewing! it's dear to my heart to read them! I try to reply as much i can, but as the knives at work can atest, there be not much time!!**

**blah blah blah, i don't own anything...really, i'm broke. no joke. but i don't own the characters, much to my chagrin. **

**Anyway, here is the final installment of my little angsty fic, hope you enjoy!**_  
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_With time the child draws in_

_This whipping boy done wrong_

_Deprived of all his thoughts_

_The young man struggles on and on he's known_

_A vow unto his own_

_That never from this day_

_His will they'll take away_

_"The Unforgiven"- _Metallica

The bruises faded, his fingernails grew back, but still he did not heal. As the Band-Aids hid his damaged digits, Sam hid his thoughts from Dean. Sure, they talked about what happened, but not really. Sure, Dean imagined new ways to torture and kill Gordon as Sam described his experience in a hollow, detached voice. As Dean fed Gordon's own appendages to him in his mind's eye, Sam stared off at the rug, telling his older brother about the primal instinct that took over.

That was two days ago. Now they barely spoke, but not for lack of trying on Dean's part. He suggested they move on. Sam shrugged. He suggested they continue the hunt they were working on before. Sam shrugged. Dean even went so far as to suggest a camping trip, hoping for the scoff and raised eyebrow that came with such an idea.

"whatever," the dull non-Sam voice replied. "I'm going out." Sam opened the door and was gone before Dean could counter.

Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees and hands coving the length of his face. He wasn't used to this. He, Dean, was supposed to be the closed off, cagey one. Sam was supposed to pester _him_ for information, get him to delve into his inner chick-flick. His consternation reached a crescendo as he slammed a fist into the table to his left.

"Dammit!" Dean could mend bones, bandage cuts, get ice packs to set against bruised skin. But this? He was no brain professor. He couldn't even know what Sam was going through. HE knew his little brother was hiding, both himself and parts of his ordeal. This routine continued the past two days, Sam despondent and Dean steaming mad at, alternatively, Gordon, that foul box, and even Sam. The last was unwarranted, but goddammitt, this was-

"ARGH!" Dean kicked the bed, only succeeding in knocking the mattress to the ground.

Not that it mattered, because Sam never slept anyway. No, that's not right. Sam never laid down. He either sat or stood, never once ever reclined. Dean caught him sleeping once. Leaning against the headboard, lanky limbs bent at the joints, Sam's features twitched and contorted He muttered incoherently and finally let out a yell. His eyes, now cold with indifference, snapped open and Dean shut his own, feigning sleep. It was tradition to let the other brother get his space, find his own two feet; unless lives were involved, of course. Seconds later, the door slammed, and Sam's wandering once again took him places unknown.

Dean's reverie was interrupted by none other than Sam.

"Hey." The older brother tried to be light-hearted, but Sam just grunted in response. He crossed the room to his duffel and started throwing clothes out haphazardly.

"Looking for something?"

"Yeah." Sam plunked a small object from the depths of his bag.

"What's that?" Silence was killing him.

"Nothing." Sam walked right back out the door, leaving a wake of discord.

A minute later, pounding bass came from outside. Assuming it was a bunch of pimply teenaged kids, Dean tried to concentrate on the laptop. That last about one song, as he recognized the beat of the next tune. Figuring he needed fresh air anyway, Dean was surprised to find the heavy beats coming from his own baby, his brother sitting in the passenger seat, head back and eyes closed. Queen's "Death on Two Legs" blasted out of the Impala's speakers.

Dean walked over and got into his seat, just shut the door and got in.

Sam's eyes opened, "What?" he asked, a tired wariness in his voice.

"Nuthin." Dean leaned back in the seat to mirror his brother's position. "Just enjoyin' the music. Good song. Describes me well." He threw a grin Sam's way.

"Whatever." His eyes closed again, but his hands never stopped, tapping out an imaginary rhythm too fast for the song.

They sat that way for a few songs, Dean hiding his surprise behind closed lids. Sam's music usually held to the acoustic, ballad side. This stuff was pure mullet rock. Queen, Styx, even Metallica. But Dean had to say something as Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People" came on and Sam started nodding along to the beat.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean reached for the dial so he could be heard over Manson's lyrics and heavy guitar. "Not that I'm complaining 'bout the upgrade in musical tastes, but seriously? Marilyn?"

Sam too reached for the dial, most likely to drown out his brother's concern, but Dean knocked his hand away.

"No, we're gonna talk about this." Dean twisted in the seat, "C'mon, I'm bendin' my rule for ya man, gotta return the favor."

"Dean, I can't..." The misery evident in Sam's face nearly made Dean flinch. "I can't...you don't understand."

"Alright, let's start easy. What's the mix? Not exactly 'The Sammy Mix'"

"Jess." Sam looked out the open window, "she made it. For finals. Said the rock calmed me down."

Dean let that sink in fully for a moment. Sam always called it _his _music, _Dean's._ "Oh. Well at least her taste in _music_ was good."

A shadow of a grin flitted across Sam's face.

"AH! It's Aliiive!" Jokes were Dean's speciality, he prayed they didn't fail them now.

"It's just..." Sam shifted uneasily, "God, you don't wanna hear my shit Dean. It's all-" He made air quotes "-chick flicky. Just give me some time, 'kay?" he looked over, bangs covering his eyes and making him look all the more like a puppy dog.

Anger boiled in Dean's stomach. Anger at himself for being such a bastard, and anger at Sam for thinking he needed to take him so damn seriously. "Dude, c'mon! You've been through some terrible crap, because that bastard has it out for you. And you've barely said a word for two days. I know I'm entertaining, but really now!"

Dean was rewarded his small tirade with a huff, but was mollified by the darkened expression crossing his brother's face. crap.

"Hey, look." Dean took a deep breath. He know some shit was gonna hit the fan. "I can't pretend to know what that bastard put you through, but ya know, maybe it would help..." He made a wide sweeping gesture.

A shuddering breath went through Sam. "When I started...running out-" he stopped, "I hallucinated. About Jess." He stole a glance at Dean then looked at his hands. "I thought I had put her behind, laid her to rest." He frowned, lost in thought. "I guess, subconsciously, that with the demon dead, she'd be there. Like she was just waiting for me."

"But Sam-"

"I know!" He shock his head irritably, "Ya know, in the beginning, when I started hunting with you, I would catch myself thinking 'after this, I can go back to her.' Then I'd have to tell myself that I couldn't." He took another breath, this one more stable than the last, "I made peace eventually, you know. Tried other girls...Sarah...Maddie. But her ghost was there, along with the demon. Now it's dead. She should be there. I did it for her, for our family. Well, you're still here, why can't she? Why can't mom and dad?"

Den just sat there, knowing the questions couldn't be answered, and that his brother wasn't done yet.

"Well, in the- dream, everything was alright. Then the phone rang and I heard your voice. 'Don't die on me Sammy,' you said, and she vanished. I couldn't move, couldn't breath. Because instead of living, I was dying in that box. Nothing, no one. And everything, everyone...was gone." He looked at Dean, uncertainty and apprehension playing on his features, certain only that he had crossed the line on sharing.

But the eldest Winchester just sat there, looking pained, "God Sammy, that's, no! Never. Never will be there no one." He grinned slowly, "How many times do I have to tell you, I ain't goin nowhere. Can't get rid of me that easily." His smile reach full wattage.

"What about a year from now?"

"I've got a plan on that one." He winked.

"Really? Wanna share?" Sam asked dubiously

"Nope, I'm workin' on it."

"Riiight." And for the first time in four days, Dean was over-joyed to hear his brother's laugh. "Thanks Dean, for, uhhh, everything."

"Move over Dr. Laura, Dr. Dean is on his way in!" They shared a chuckle at that incredulity. "Hey, wanna call Betsy?"

"Dude! She's like 18!"

"Very bubbly though. Bet she's a rabbit in the sack."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. Dean smiled, glad to have his bitch of a brother back.

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**Thanks so, so incredibly much for reading!! this was entire story was a test to write, you're reviews and support make it all worth it!! catch y'all on the flipside ;)**


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